Back to work

Shaddap.
Shussss.
Zippit.
Be QUIET!

Think it is glamorous to live and work overseas? Try teaching. By nature one of the most unglamorous, humble, unnoticeable, unappreciated jobs on earth.

(Still don't know how I got here.)

But here I am, finding ever unique ways of telling energetic, bouncy young lads and lassies to engage creatively with music and to shut their mooths while engaging.

I've been back at work for over a week now, and returning after a long Summer holiday is a shock to the fragile system. I can hear some sneering in the background, saying that I should be grateful for such a long break, blah-blah-blah. It's still a shock. Even though I have enough free time in the evenings and afternoons, my thoughts have been consumed with schemes of work, lesson plans, registration rules and daily notices. Teaching is never boring. Every day brings its own little surprise.

My surprise today was B****. He is barely twelve, blessed with the red hair of his unruly forefathers who raped and plundered their way into society, (and, according to a segment in this month's National Geographic, is a dying species) and he is having his first class with me.

'Now, class, after you've all completed the section on....B****, why have you not written anything?' Why I even bother asking is another mystery, but then again, maybe I am blessed with a higher-than-normal ratio of idealismoptimism. (On good days)
'I didnae understand,' he says sulkily.
I frown. 'What I do NOT understand is how YOU don't understand how to draw a picture. Of your favourite instrument. ANY instrument will do.' My voice temperature is rising into the lower red regions.
'I DIDNAE WANNA DO IT!!!!' says B***, with exclamation marks.
And that is only his first lesson.

96% of them are absolutely spiffy, enthusiastic and a boon to the human race. 4% drives me to distraction. 60+ days holiday a year x good salary + short hours.

Not bad, not bad. Maybe I was meant to be here.